


The Wrong Place, Right Time Job

by RedThreads



Series: The Flower on the Mountain Job [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: One Shot, for now, very minor swearing, wrong apartment trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedThreads/pseuds/RedThreads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot Spencer suffers the lingering effects  of a tranquilizer, and ends up spending the night in the wrong apartment. Against all conventional odds, he manages to land in the one apartment belonging to the only neighbor who actually knows who he is and why she shouldn't call the police to report his break in.</p><p>An Eliot-centric one shot that will turn into a series of connected one shots with the possibility of a multi-chapter. Warnings and tags will change as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Place, Right Time Job

**Author's Note:**

> A favorite trope from the AU prompt list on Tumblr and it just made me think... and write. Unfortunately, I accidentally fell in love with the original character and didn't want to let her go, so there will be a few more of these one shots. I adore everyone from Leverage, so they will show up, but this is just Eliot this time.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so please let me know of any mistakes and I will quickly correct. I also appreciate any feedback you guys can give me. I hope you enjoy!

_People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word._  
—Benjamin Alire Sáenz, _Last Night I Sang To The Monster_

Eliot was exhausted. Actually, if he was truly honest with himself, he was still experiencing the effects of the tranquilizer he hadn’t managed to avoid. He never should have left the office, but Parker and Hardison had been getting cuddly, talking about ‘pretzels’, and he was already vaguely nauseated. He loved those two, but it was all a bit much sometimes for someone like him. He was grateful that his apartment was only a few blocks from the brew pub, so his stumble home hadn’t taken too long. He had barely made it up the four flights to his floor, but he knew if he’d taken the elevator, he would have fallen asleep. However, now his vision was so blurry that he was having trouble making out the doors to the apartments on his floor.

His door was giving him trouble and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with while feeling like this. He rammed his shoulder into the door, and was shocked and a little embarrassed when he hit the door frame instead of the door. _Stupid, friggin’ amateurs with their stupid friggin’ tranquilizers._ He rammed the door with his shoulder again, this time managing to hit it just right and popping the lock. He stumbled into his apartment, a little surprised at how easily the door gave. He was sure the deadbolt had been thrown, he always made sure his place was properly secured. Eliot had to lean against the wall, but he managed to get the deadbolt thrown this time, since he’d broken the door knob lock. A sound that was horrifyingly close to a giggle escaped Eliot as he proudly thought that even drugged he was able to secure his place. Pretty damn impressive, if he did say so himself.

His vision was doubling on top of blurring and he stumbled a bit more on his way to his bedroom. Suddenly, he slammed into the arm of a sofa he didn’t remember being there before  and went toppling down face first into the soft cushions. “Shouldn’t have told Hardison I was fine,” Eliot muttered into the cushions as darkness started closing in around him. Right before he was completely lost to unconscious he thought he heard a gasp, but was too far gone to do anything about it.

~*~

Hana let out a gasp as she moved from her bedroom to the hallway and saw her next door neighbor stumble into her sofa and slam down. He muttered something about not being fine and then snoring emitted from where his face was smashed into her cushions. Hana blinked in shock as she tried to come to grips with the scene in front of her. In her apartment. On her sofa. The incredibly hot, somewhat scary neighbor. Ethan Stinson, the subject of much laundry room and hallway gossip. On her sofa.

Hanna ran a hand through her normally pin straight, sleep-tousled, shoulder blade length black hair, her fingers getting tangled in the teal dyed ends as she blew out a tired breath. She had just woken up from a screaming nightmare to hear the unmistakable sound of someone breaking into her apartment. The sound of splintering wood and protesting metal was not something one easily forgot, and Hanna had reacted instinctively, grabbing the knife from under her pillow and carefully sneaking from her bedroom through the hallway to the entrance of her living room, kitchen, and entry combo. From there she had watched the broad shouldered man drunkenly stumble against her door jamb, lock her miraculously barely splintered door with what might have been a giggle, and fall over her sofa as if he hadn’t even seen it.

Hana jumped slightly as one large hand fell off the sofa, hitting the floor with a thwack. _What am I supposed to do with him now?_ Hana thought as her gaze ran over the still, muscular form. There was no way she was going to be able to move him, and there was no way she was risking a punch to the face, or worse, by waking him. She moved a little closer, tilting her head to side as she considered just who had stumbled into her apartment.

Eliot Spencer. Oh, he might have rented the apartment next to her under the name Ethan Stinson, but she knew better, Out of all of the apartments he could chose to break into and take a nap, he picked hers. A small smile curved her lips as she shook her head. “You got lucky, Mr. Spencer,” she murmured quietly, walking over to the overstuffed chair adjacent to the sofa. She tucked her knife under the chair cushion and plucked the soft throw in a muted turquoise from the back of the chair. Moving to stand over the unconscious man, she spread the blanket over him and quickly stepped back, waiting for a reaction. When only continued light snoring occurred, Hana relaxed just slightly.

She stepped back and sat in the chair, folding her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees, as the right strap of her loose fitting black sleep cami fell from her smooth shoulder. “Anyone else would have screamed and called the police. Honestly, it’s what I should do,” she continued just as quietly, laying her cheek on her knees as she continued to watch her sleeping neighbor. She frowned, her brow furrowing just slightly as her dark brown eyes grew troubled. She’d been thinking that Eliot was lucky because she knew more about the man than most of the other occupants of the building and was one of the ones least likely to contact the police, at least as far as she knew, but now that she thought about it… this was a man who prided himself on control. He wasn’t someone to get drunk and pick the wrong apartment. She thought about his muttered statement about not being fine. No, something was very wrong here.

The steady rise and fall of his back, along with the occasional snore assured her that he wasn’t dead or in respiratory distress. Still, she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight for several reasons. Hana sighed as she shifted just slightly in the chair, looking at the time. Just past three thirty in the morning. It was going to be a long night. Good thing she didn’t normally sleep after one of her nightmares.

~*~

Eliot woke feeling as if the Butcher of Kiev was back and using his head as a chopping block, sharp pain pulsing through his skull with each beat of his heart. He couldn’t feel one of his arms and had a moment of panic until he realized it was under him and the circulation had been cut off. He went to push himself up with his other hand and instead of feeling his mattress, there was hardwood. Confused, Eliot rolled on his side, which sent him crashing to the floor, smashing his limp elbow on the coffee table as he did. That sent sharp pins and needles through his entire arm, painful enough to momentarily block out the pain from his head.

 _Wait a minute…_ Eliot looked up and saw a cat with a thick, smooth silver-blue coat and round, curious green eyes staring at him from the coffee table. He didn’t have a cat. He didn’t have a glass and metal coffee table. He whipped his head around, taking in the mid-sized flat screen across from the dove grey sofa he had fallen from, the warm, pale yellow walls with the bright watercolors everywhere. He looked down and saw a turquoise blanket wrapped around him. He only owned one blanket and it was on his bed, and it definitely wasn’t turquoise. “This isn’t my place,” he breathed, a new sense of panic tightening his chest. He didn’t know any of this, had no idea where he was or who had him. Where his team was. _Were they okay?_

“Well, you finally noticed,” a quiet, cautious voice said from behind the sofa, a soft lilt to the voice with a whisper of an accent he could almost place.

Eliot burst to his feet, taking a defensive stance immediately, both arms up, hands fisted so he was ready for whatever was coming his way. He had to force his left arm up, working to ignore the shooting pain from hitting his elbow and the pins and needles from sleeping on it. “Where am I?” he growled, his southern twang thickening with his anger as he looked for his assailant.

“Apartment next to yours. 4B instead of 4D. You got drunk last night and made a mistake when you finally came home,” the voice continued and Eliot looked towards the kitchen where a young woman stood, a steaming mug held in both hands as eyes so dark they were almost black watched him warily. Smooth, pretty features such as her straight nose with a silver ring tight against her right nostril above full lips, high, broad cheekbones, and almond shaped eyes under thin, dark brows marked her as of Japanese descent, as did her thick, straight black hair, the ends of which were dyed a teal that blended up into her natural hair color after a few inches.

It was the teal color and those striking eyes that finally cleared the fog from Eliot’s brain and he recognized his neighbor. A groan escaped him as his stance relaxed and he hung his head, shoulder length hair falling forward in a curtain. He looked up, shoving a hand through his sable hair to get it out of his face, and locked eyes with the woman. “I wasn’t drunk,” he muttered, “I promise. I’m sorry. I must have scared the hell out of you,” he continued, glancing between the woman and the splintered door with a wince.

“It was a bit of a shock, yes,” the woman responded calmly before taking a sip from her mug.

Eliot stared at her, his head spinning for a different reason entirely now. _Who was this woman? How the hell was she so calm about some strange man crashing into her place?_ “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously, icy blue eyes narrowing as he studied her more closely. Loose grey and violet paisley printed cotton drawstring pants covered long, lean legs and he got the impression she could run for days on those legs. A black tank top revealed a slim waist and toned arms with a brightly colored tattoo of a deep pink peony in full bloom on her left shoulder. She didn’t have the look of a trained killer, but he had several scars to remind him not to take anything for granted.

A dark eyebrow rose and a hint of a smile touched her lips. “I’m Hana Smith, your neighbor. That’s it,” she replied.

“Why didn’t you call the cops? A woman alone with someone breaking in?” Eliot probed, moving slowly and carefully out from behind the sofa, keeping the wall to his back, so he had more space to move if it became necessary.

Hana nodded slightly in approval as she watched his movements. He was very, very good. “Cops aren’t always the way to go,” she mused, taking another sip of her jasmine green tea. The man she knew was a trained killer tensed even further and she relented slightly. “I was going to call, actually, but I recognized you, and you were so clearly out of it, I didn’t see the harm in letting you sleep it off on my sofa.”

Eliot didn’t know how he felt about that. A huge part of him was grateful, the other part wanted to shake her. Didn’t she know there were bad, truly nasty people in the world?

A rather frightening frown was spreading across his face and Hana knew she was going to have to confess, or he was going to paranoid and suspicious forever. She didn’t want to add to whatever worry he already had about work following him home. It was a nightmare to fear your own place. Hana set her mug down on the kitchen counter closest to her and leaned against it, bracing her arms on either side of her. “You got lucky, Mr. Spencer. You managed to break into the one apartment who knows who you are and what you do,” she began.

Confused anger bubbled up in Eliot and he began to move more quickly towards her, tossing his hair out of his face as he did. She knew his name. She knew his damn name! “If you know who I am, then you know it would’ve been smarter to call the cops,” he growled as he stalked towards her.

The artist in Hana deeply appreciated the lion-like toss of his mane of hair and his predatory movements forward. The image of a lion suited him, with his broad features and squared off jaw, the heavy musculature of his body, and she was instantly gripped with desire to sketch him. The survivor in her snapped at her that she better explain more clearly, and fast, or she was heading for a world of hurt. Hana threw her hands up in a conciliatory gesture, but refused to retreat. Not in her own home. “Sorry, I should explain. I know who you are now. I know very little about your past, just rumors. I know you’re a good guy now,” she said quietly. She had been forced to spend most of her life around incredibly frightening people, so he didn’t completely intimidate her, but he was… impressive.

“Good is pushing it,” he rumbled, getting between her and the door.

 _As if she’d even come close to opening the deadbolted door before he pounced,_ she thought dismissively. Hana sighed. The man was a hard case, but she couldn’t really blame him. “I was referred to Leverage Inc., that’s why I know you. I did some research to see what I was getting into,” she finally admitted. “I just know basics.”

“I don’t remember working anything for you,” Eliot said, stopping his forward stalk and crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed her again, a slightly different light in his eyes this time.

Hana shook her head, teal and black strands cascading over  her shoulders she did. “That’s because I never tried to hire you. I was referred, but things… came to a head a little sooner than I thought and… I handled it on my own,” she explained, faltering slightly at the end, glancing down at her feet, before meeting Eliot’s eyes once more. “So, no, Mr. Spencer, you never worked anything for me, but I know what you and yours try to do. I wasn’t going to call the police on you, and I didn’t mind letting you sleep off whatever happened to you on my sofa. If you feel better, I didn’t exactly leave ‘the strange man’ alone in my home while I went back to sleep. I kept an eye on you, made sure there was no trouble,” she assured him, her voice returning to her previous confident tone.

“I’m sorry you had to handle it on your own,” Eliot said softly, his gaze taking in every tensed muscle and subtle flinch. Whatever had happened had been ugly and while she wasn’t a trained killer… he didn’t have to wonder just what she had done to get herself out of whatever situation she’d been in. He recognized the look, had seen it on too many faces in the war zones, in the streets. He’d seen it in his own eyes the first time he'd taken a life, before it had gotten routine to him.

Hana shrugged, a quick movement of her carefully relaxed shoulders. “It was what it was. Would you like some coffee or tea, Mr. Spencer? You only slept three hours, I’m sure you could use it. I have cereal as well. I’d offer you eggs or something, but I’m rubbish in the kitchen,” she said with a shrug, registering the flicker of his eyes when she told him how long he’d been out.

Once again, Eliot was thrown by the woman in front of him. After having him break in and watching over him all night, she was offering breakfast as well? She was interesting all right, very interesting. He felt as if he owed her for the safe harbor she’d given him, and he didn’t like feeling as if he owed anyone. Something she said snapped into place and a small smile bloomed on his face. “You like eggs?” he asked. She looked lost, but nodded. He held up a finger as he moved towards her apartment door. “I’ll be right back,” he told her, and vanished out the door.

Hana’s eyebrows rose and she briefly debated trying to lock the somewhat broken door. She tossed that idea out because she was honestly curious to see what the gruff former mercenary was planning. She poured a little more tea in her mug, tugging her errant cami strap back into place, and wandered over to the coffee table, where her patient cat still sat like the king he knew he was. “I hope you don’t mind our guest, Hideo. He only snored a little, isn’t that right, my sweet love?” she murmured as she reached out and scratched the top of his rounded head between his ears. Hideo arched into her touch, rubbing his thick, silky fur against her fingers. A soft knock sounded and she called out, “Come on in.”

The door opened to reveal a returning Eliot, wearing a blue paisley bandanna to keep his hair out of his face, and carrying a bowl filled with several things, the most obvious of which were eggs. “If you like eggs, I can make… umm… look, thanks for letting me sleep here. Can I make you breakfast as  repayment?” he finally said, looking far less confident than usual, a nervous smile quirking up the edges of his lips.

Hana grinned at him, surprise and something she couldn’t quite name warming her. “I’d say you don’t have to, but I never turn down free food,” she replied, scooping up the cat in her arms and cradling him as she moved back towards the kitchen, where Eliot was heading. “Do you need help with anything?” she asked.

Eliot looked back at he from where he stood at the side of her stove and looked pointedly at the cat in her arms. “No, you… relax. Over there,” he said, pointing at a bar stool at the breakfast bar several feet away from where he was working. He glanced over at her partially ruined door. “Breakfast and a door. I’ll get the door fixed by lunch time,” he said, shooting her another look, this one tinged with guilt. He wanted to apologize again, but he’d already said sorry more times this morning than he had in all of the last six months. He had a limit and he tried to stick to it.

She was still smiling at him and Eliot was gut-punched by how quietly beautiful she was. He’d noticed he had a gorgeous neighbor, hell, there were several very attractive women in his building, but he had done his best to ignore that. He didn’t exactly stick around after he and the ladies were done having fun, and doing that where you lived was a just a recipe for disaster. So he needed to ignore just how much he liked the way her silky hair flowed over her shoulder, how fine and soft her skin looked, and he certainly did not need to notice how her smile lit up her face. “How long was I out?” he asked as he began setting out his ingredients, more to distract himself from thoughts of his pretty neighbor than for any real desire to know, as she’d already told him.

“Three hours, about. It was around three thirty in the morning when you came crashing in,” she replied, her smile and tone turning the last bit into a joke.

He appreciated that, her attempt to smooth over what was honestly an incredibly embarrassing moment for him. Three hours though… Eliot grunted softly as he quickly reduced a handful of fresh oregano and thyme to a chiffonade. That meant that even after Parker had gotten him the antidote, he’d been messed up for over eight hours. That was a long time. Still… three hours of drugged sleep was still one more than he usually got and he had to admit, now that the pounding had subsided in his head, he was feeling pretty well rested.

“More sleep than you’re used to, isn’t it?” Hana said and he whipped his head around to see her watching him, curiosity and a strange sense of understanding emanating from her as she stroked the cat in her lap. What he was thinking must have been obvious on his face, as she immediately pointed down the short hallway to what he assumed was her bedroom. “Our bedrooms apparently share a wall. Not the best soundproofing I’m afraid, and well… I hear you get up a lot during the night,” she informed him, wincing slightly as she did, as she she were concerned he’d be angry with her.

Eliot considered what she was saying and realized that while he was pacing his room at night, he had frequently heard things from her side as well. It hadn’t been threatening, so he hadn’t paid too much attention to it, other than to note that the noises were both human and animal, happened regularly, and appeared part of routine rather than erratic. He cracked six eggs in a bowl, added a splash of cream, salt, pepper, a handful of shredded cheese, and the herbs he had cut before turning to the woman who knew far too much. “Do you like bacon?” he asked, needing to know that before anything else, or the timing of the meal would be off.

Hana grinned at him, delight crossing her face. “Bacon is heavenly, Mr. Spencer,”

He grinned back at her, unable to help himself in the face of her sudden happiness. “Wait till you try mine, it’ll blow regular bacon out of the water. And it’s Eliot, seems kinda silly to call me Mr. Spencer when I’ve already drooled on your sofa. Got a pan I can borrow?”

“You got lucky and didn’t drool,” she said with a small laugh, then she pointed to a cabinet to the right of the stove, “Pans are under there. They aren’t great, but they’ll work.”

Eliot looked in the cabinet she pointed out and was horrified. “Are you kidding me?,” he muttered, hauling out two subpar fry pans, one of which had a small dent in it, the other was starting to rust around the screws holding the handle to the pan.

He looked over at Hana, who had the grace to look embarrassed as he rose from his crouch, holding the two pans out away from him as if they were dead rats. “I told you I don’t do very well in the kitchen,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair. Hideo let out a chirp and abandoned her lap to saunter over to Eliot, where he sniffed the pans and gave a dismissive flick of his tail before walking back towards the sofa. Hana and Eliot watched the cat, and Eliot smirked as Hana murmured, “Traitor,” to the retreating cat.

“They’ll work for now,” Eliot said, setting the pans on the stove. “But you have seriously got to get some new equipment. This is just sad,” he continued, shaking his head. He pulled thick slabs of bacon out of plain brown wax paper and started it sizzling in the larger pan. That taken care of, he turned back to Hana, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, you wanna tell me how someone who knows about our little business, but didn’t use our services, just happens to live right next door to me? Someone who has clearly lived with yakuza before?” he asked, making sure to keep his expression open and curious, rather than what Sophie called his usual ‘tell me or I’ll rip your intestines out through your nose’ look. He had to admit, that look was effective, but he didn’t think it was appropriate here. Yet.

It was Hana’s turn to be bewildered. “Wha… how… why do you think I lived with yakuza?” she whispered, feeling little chills race up her spine. He knew, it wasn’t a guess, he _knew_. She could see it in his eyes.

He nodded at her tattoo. “There are minute differences in the line work, but the color scheme and style are unique to the tattoos worn by the yakuza as a sign of respect and form of resume. That art right there is someone very familiar with yakuza, turning their style into her own, not some phony pretending to be a gangster,” he told her.

Hana covered her tattoo with her hand. “You got all of that from my tattoo?” she asked, horrified. For a moment, she worried she had made a fatal error in getting what had once been a symbol of liberation for her.

Eliot shrugged and nodded towards the chair she had spent a portion of the night in, watching him while he slept off the drugs. “That and the knife you have stuffed under the cushion there. Both are a very distinctive style,” he continued. For a moment he regretted what he’d exposed about her as he saw at her shattered expression and he watched the confident woman from before vanish as she curled into herself slightly, one hand still covering the tattoo, the other wrapped around her waist. But he couldn’t let that get to him right now, he had to make sure he and his team were safe. “So once again, how did you end up right next to me, Hana Smith, or whatever your real name is.”

Hana wanted to protest, to deny everything, to his attention back to the stove, to safety, anything other try to shine a light on her past. But those intense cerulean eyes refused to relent. “ _Hai_ , yes,” Hana finally said, forcing the words past her tight lips. “Fine, you’re right. I grew up around the yakuza. But I’m not part of them, I have nothing to do with them, and they have nothing on me anymore to force me to work for them. Everything’s fine now, you don’t have to concern yourself,” she continued, her hands fisting in her lap as she glared at Eliot. This had been what she feared would happen when she saw Eliot on her sofa last night, but as much as she hated any mention of this topic, she couldn’t blame his caution.

  
Eliot poured the egg mixture into the second hot pan, letting it set, and turned the bacon over before turning back to Hana. He wanted to push the topic of her name, which she had avoided, he wanted to ask about that interesting turn of phrase regarding the yakuza not having anything to blackmail her with… anymore. But looking at her, he knew he had to pry into this carefully. Briefly, he wished that Sophie was here, Sophie who could read just about anyone instantly. “Then explain,” he said bluntly, hoping she would open up more.

  
The urge to run itched up her spine, but Hana fought it down. This was her home and she would not hide here. If she were honest with herself, she could admit that it might almost be a relief for someone like Eliot to know a bit of her history. No one in this city knew anything about her past, that was safest, but if someone had to know… Eliot Spencer was probably a good choice. “I’ve been renting here for about two years now, a solid year more than you. Ask the super if you don’t believe the records I know you can get into,” she replied, her tone low and harsher than she wanted, and she knew her accent had increased as well. She couldn’t help it, being questioned and forced into thinking about all of this made her miserable and agitated. “I don’t know how it happened, call it fate if you want, but imagine my surprise when I look out my door eight months ago and recognize the great Eliot Spencer moving right next door. I almost ran the moment I saw you, I even packed my bags that night. I was so scared you had been sent to get me.” At that, Eliot shifted, and she knew he wanted to question her declaration that no one was after her if she was worried. She staved off his questions by quickly continuing her story. “Then I realized that if you’d been sent for me, I never would have seen you. I have a good life here, a job I love, and I didn’t want to leave. And honestly… when I saw how you were with the other neighbors, like helping Mrs. Morris with her bags, and Jenny with her awful ex, I wondered if maybe I was… safer now,” she admitted softly, ducking her head, too embarrassed to meet his gaze directly. “So no, I don’t have reason for how we ended up living next to each other, but… I’m not sorry. These past eight months, even when you aren’t home for days or weeks on end… this is the safest I have felt in four years.” Hana let out a shaky sigh and forced herself to stop rambling. She still wasn’t able to look Eliot in the eyes, so she focused on one of his broad shoulder instead.

Eliot was silent as he absorbed Hana’s story, stirring the eggs on autopilot. He sensed no deceit in her tone or movements. He hoped he wasn’t being foolish, but he thought she was telling the truth. One of the side effects of basically living with his team for so long had been an exponentially increased sense for when someone was lying. He’d check it out of course, he wasn’t an idiot. “Who’s after you?” he asked softly.

She shook her head, black and teal hair shielding her eyes once more. “No one, I told you. I was very careful and very lucky. However, you don’t lose a lifetime of caution and fear overnight, do you?” she said after a few moments, finally meeting his eyes again. Eliot shook his head and Hana offered a flicker of a smile.

“Plates?” he asked, as breakfast was nearly finished. Hana pushed off the stool she had been sitting on and retrieved two plates from a cabinet near the stove, placing them on the counter near Eliot. Before she could move back, his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist in a gentle hold that the faintest resistance would have broken. Hana froze at his touch, shocked dark eyes flying to meet his. “If you need help, you can tell me,” he said, his gravelly, deep drawl vibrating through her.

She gave him a tentative smile. “It’s okay, Eliot, I handled it. There’s nothing for you to worry about,” she told him, gently pulling her hand from his hold.

Eliot’s eyebrows rose, but she continued to hold his gaze. “If you’re sure,” he finally said, and she nodded, moving to get out utensils. He continued to watch her from his peripherals as he dished out the eggs and set the bacon to drain briefly on some paper towels he took from the roll on the counter.

In short order, Eliot and Hana had a plate of steaming, fragrant food in front of them, facing each other on either side of the breakfast bar. Eliot couldn’t help the small smile of satisfaction when Hana took a bite of her eggs and just sank back, her eyes sliding shut as an expression of utter joy crossed her face. “This is amazing,” she murmured, right before taking another hearty bite.

Eliot grinned, scooping up some for himself, as he watched her continue to eat, making humming noises of approval, her shoulders truly relaxing for the first time. “Try the bacon,” he suggested once he had swallowed, suddenly anxious to know what she thought. He knew it was delicious, that he was an excellent cook, but she had such open appreciation for what she was eating, he wanted to see what her reaction would be.

“But then I’ll have to stop eating the eggs! What is this cheese? It’s glorious,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as she was still chewing.

“Jarlsberg. Adds just the right flavor to balance out the herbs,” Eliot told her.

Hana gestured with her fork, waving it in the general direction of his apartment. “Are these your herbs? I saw you had a bunch of veggies growing on your balcony. I can barely get my pansies to stay alive outside, never mind that miniature garden you have,” she asked, thinking of the lush rows of greenery that took up most of his space on the small balcony each apartment had off of the main bedroom.

He nodded. “Yeah, you overwater the plants out there, noticed that a few times. I always use my own stuff when cooking, these are my herbs, I know the cheese guy, and the eggs are from my chickens. Heck, the bacon I personally smoked and seasoned from my pigs as well,” he said, shrugging.

Hanna stared at him, her fork midway between her plate and her mouth. “I call bullshit, no way you have chickens and pigs in that little apartment, or up on the roof,” she said disbelievingly.

Eliot grinned at her, plucking up a piece of bacon and biting into the crispy, thick meat as he winked at her. “You’re right, I don’t have any chickens or pigs here,” he replied and Hana couldn’t help but smile back at him. When he grinned like that, appearing almost playful, he looked like a mischievous kid stuck in a handsome cowboy’s body. It touched a chord in Hana that she instantly responded to.

“Alright, smarty pants, then how is all of this possible?” Hana asked, picking up her own piece of bacon.

“I have a small farm outside of Portland, annnnd…” Eliot trailed off as he watched Hana bite into the bacon and saw her reaction. Her pupils went huge and then her eyes fluttered shut, a faint flush spreading around her cheeks as she melted in her seat slightly. A humming moan emanated from her as she chewed, the sound shooting right through him, making him suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the fit of his pants. He took a deep breath, ordering himself to calm down.

Hana took a few more bites, savoring each one with a humming sound of pure satisfaction, before her eyes refocused and she met Eliot’s hooded gaze, her flush deepening slightly. “I’d apologize, but this is honestly the most magical experience I’ve ever had involving food,” she murmured.

An almost wolfish smile crossed Eliot’s face. “No need to apologize, glad to see you enjoy it,” he drawled.

“Mmm, definitely,” Hana nodded. “Sooo, you have a farm?” she asked, partially because she really was interested in her mysterious neighbor and where the glorious bacon had come from, and partially because she wanted to move the focus from her.

For the next thirty or so minutes conversation flowed between the two neighbors in a easy, natural way. Hana learned that Eliot’s farm, which included vegetables, chickens, a milk goat, pigs, and a small herd of cows, was mostly run by an older farmer who had run into a little trouble with a bank trying to foreclose on his property. Eliot had managed to change the subject when Hana had asked just how Eliot had helped the farmer and how he had come to be the proprietor of the farm managed by the farmer, who oversaw the day to day operation of both farms. Eliot in turn learned that Hana worked for a local domestic violence shelter ‘doing  a bit of everything’ as Hana put it, and when she wasn’t at the shelter, she was painting. All of the watercolors on the walls were hers and she had blushed once more when Eliot had exclaimed over them, as she felt his sincerity over her use of color and blending loose, traditional watercolors with inked, more defined lines.

They had finished their breakfast awhile ago, but they found themselves continuing to talk, one topic flowing into another, their plates pushed to the side as they each found themselves leaning towards the other, elbows on the breakfast bar. Eliot had just asked what had brought Hana to Portland when his cell chimed and vibrated in his pocket. With an apologetic look, he fished it out, seeing a text from Hardison asking, **You dead?** and texted back a quick reply.

Hana was relieved at the fortuitous timing of the text, as she hadn’t been expecting the question. That was foolish of her, of course Eliot Spencer was going to get around to asking why she was here. She flashed him a quick, not quite as easy smile, when he looked back up at her, his expression telling her he was still interested in her answer. “I guess you could say I bounced around for awhile. I started in Boston, that’s where I heard about Leverage,” she admitted with a shrug, “annnd just kinda… tried a bunch of places for a few years, I guess you could say? To be honest, I never expected to stay in Portland, but…” she paused and her smile softened, entering her eyes more. “I don’t really know, a few things just fell into place and I guess I needed to stay planted for a little bit.”

Eliot smiled with her. He knew the feeling she was described, knew it very well. “That’s sort of how we ended up here as well. We weren’t expecting to stay long, and now…” he spread his hands, leaning back in his chair. Hana was about to say something when Eliot’s phone went off again. He grimaced and fished it out again. It was another text from Hardison, demanding more details, clearly worried about him. “I’m sorry, I should probably return this,” he said regretfully.

Hana waved off his apology. “Please, do what you need to do. Thank you so much for breakfast.” A part of her regretted that this strange, lovely morning interlude was coming to an end, but she knew he had important work and obligations.

“Thank you for not calling the police or trying to stab me,” he said with a short laugh. He pointed at her broken door. “I still owe you a new door. Let me make this call and I’ll be right back.”

Hana cocked her head, impressed and touched that he still planned to make good on that. However, she had some morning rituals that had been delayed due to her surprise guest and he was still in his clothes from the day before. “Listen, I need to grab a shower and all that, and I’m sure you have some things you need to do. If you’re serious, would forty-five minutes to an hour work for your schedule?” she asked.

Eliot grinned at her. “Sounds perfect, darlin’, good thinking,” he said, standing. He circled with his hand, indicating the small mess of their plates and the kitchen. “Leave this for now too, I’ll help when I’m done with the door.”

Hana stood and walked the short distance with him to the door. “You cooked, I’ll clean. But I’ll wait until you’re working on the door, okay?” she returned and he agreed.

He was halfway out the door when he suddenly turned back. “Thank you, Hana, it was a real pleasure,” he said softly, sincerely, his eyes on hers.

“Yeah, it was. Not bad for a midnight mistake, huh?” she teased, her grin lighting up her face.

“Not bad at all. See you in a bit,” he agreed, and finished tugging the partially ruined door shut. He shook his head as he strode towards his own apartment, a smile not leaving his face as he went. Maybe getting to know his neighbor a little better wasn’t such a bad idea after all...


End file.
